Ghost of Christmas Past
by VickiLeigh
Summary: Molly reminisces about a particularly rough Christmas and the death of her father.


As Christmas rolled around again, the first happy one since Sherlock faked his death, Molly could think of only two things. The first, obviously, being Sherlock. She hoped that he would like her present. She had secured some chemicals that civilians had an especially hard time obtaining, but which coroners and morticians had readily available, and which Sherlock had commented about needing for another one of his experiment.

She could just picture it. He would set the bright red package on the coffee table, take hold of the ends of the ribbon, and slowly pull to unravel the bow. It would come undone and fall to the wayside, then Sherlock would turn his attention to the sides of the package, held together with two small pieces of tape. He would pick it off with his long, nimble fingers, trying not to tear the wrapping. Then, after the sides, he would focus on the last piece of tape that stood between him and his gift and held the wrapping together around the present. Once peeled away, he would remove the wrapping paper and stare at the box. The lack of decoration it adorned would tip him off right away as to what it was. He was so brilliant.

He would have gotten Molly a present out of convention, but, the look in his eyes as he opened the box would be gift enough for her.

The second thing that Molly thought of during the holidays was her father, who died on Christmas day.

She remembered it all so clearly.

Molly had just turned 9 that year. This would be her last Christmas before she hit double digits, and she felt that she had to make the most of it.

Christmas had always been her favourite holiday. The tree, the presents, the songs. She especially loved the lights, twinkling and shining and glowing, illuminating everything in their soft light.

Christmas morning had gone well. Molly opened her presents, her mother and father watched from the sofa. He had a drink in his hand and she had half-healed bruises from falling down the stairs on her arm. Her mother was very clumsy, always falling, tripping, and hurting herself.

For dinner, they visited Molly's mother's parents. Molly's father had severed contact with his abusive family to try and escape the memories and the connection to his past.

Molly's father had never gotten along with his father-in-law, who thought he wasn't good enough for his little girl. Luckily, they agreed not to fight during the holidays. Because Molly's father felt out of place among his wives family, he drank a little more than usual. This caused him to get agitated and antsy, which only got worse when he was forced to let his wife drive home because he was too drunk.

When they got home, the phone rang and Molly's mother got dragged into a seemingly endless conversation with her sister, who lived too far up north to make the trip down for the holidays. Molly went down the hall to go to bed that night, worried less about her father's drinking and more about what the alcohol might make him do.

Molly laid in bed, trying to fall asleep. Then she heard the footsteps down the hall, and her heart started to race. She knew what was coming, and every time it did, she wanted to die. She wanted to run and hide, or just run away. She wanted to try some of the pills in the medicine cabinet and find out what bourbon tasted like. She wanted to stop breathing.

The footsteps stopped and the doorknob turned. The knot in her stomach tightened. She felt sick; physically ill. She wished she hadn't decided to wear her pajama dress.

Molly's father stumbled into her room.

Molly tried to hide herself under the covers, but, he knew she was there. She wished there were Christmas lights in her room then, so it wouldn't be so dark. So that maybe, just maybe, he may see what he was about to do and come to his senses.

He tore the blankets off of her, pinned her down, and climbed on top of her.

"No daddy. Stop it. Get off." Molly started silently sobbing. She knew that screaming wouldn't do anything. If her mother tried to stop him, she would have another bad fall. Molly couldn't stand to be the cause of that. So she stayed as quiet as she could.

He was sitting on her chest as he undid his belt and unzipped his pants. Molly could barely breathe. He only got off of her to reposition himself so that he could violate her.

He held down her arm with one hand, and opened her with the other.

CLANG!

He rolled off of the bed and fell to the floor in a heap, Molly's mother standing behind him with a frying pan.

"It's Christmas!"

She had noticed that he wasn't in his usual place in front of the television. She knew what that meant, especially because he was exceedingly drunk. He no longer found her appealing, but was drawn to their daughter. She knew what had been happening, but, the fact that he would do this on Christmas sent her over the edge. She had had enough.

She took Molly and ran to the car. They headed to the local women's shelter for the night. Molly had never known such kindness as she was given there. Everyone – every, single person – was so attentive and caring.

The next day, Molly's mother went back to the house to collect some clothes, money, and anything else they would need for the next while. It took her hours to return, and when she did, she didn't bring anything with her, but, brought Molly back home.

Molly was told that her father fled the country to Florida, but, later discovered that he had died of a subdural hematoma that night.

She didn't know who it was, or how her mother got in touch with them, but, someone helped her mother by corrupting information and hacking international databases in order to make it appear that Molly's father had been executed in Florida on a triple murder charge.

She later suspected that the hacker was the same person to help her bruised mother move the body, although she never knew what happened to it.

This experience led Molly to take the career path of a mortician. She wanted to know what happened to her father in his last living moments.

Eleven years later, Molly's mother gave her daughter away to an engineer. The Hooper wedding was simple, but elegant, fitting their love. Unfortunately, the pair only had three years together before he was crushed by a steel girder on one of the sites he was overseeing. He died instantly.

After the funeral, Molly followed her mother back to her flat. She wasn't quite ready to go back home and face the memories. She had been spending nights at her mother's ever since the death, a week ago.

"I'll put the kettle on," called her mother as they walked through the door.

Molly stayed silent and sat on the sofa, just thinking.

Sometime later, her mother walked in with two cups of tea and handed one of them to Molly.

"Thanks, Mum."

"Just this once, dear. I'm not your housekeeper," remarked her mother as she took a seat next to recently-widowed daughter.


End file.
